


too much

by mcfuck



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Pastfic, Post-Coital Cuddling, Size Difference, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 06:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20223025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcfuck/pseuds/mcfuck
Summary: Is the God King's dick really good enough to risk serious injury and/or death? Experts say yes.





	too much

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone has an idea for a better summary lmk

Rastakhan suspects that he might be slapped for stopping again, but he can't help but worry.

“Are you _ sure- _” he begins, but Zul immediately cuts him off with a snarl, albeit a somewhat feeble one.

“_ I'm sure, _” Zul grits out, teeth clenched so tightly that Rastakhan worries he might break one. The prophet’s resolve is unwavering, but it seems that his conviction is far stronger than his body. If not for the violent redness of his face and inner ears, Zul’s expression would suggest he’s being tortured, or under some other form of extreme duress.

Rastakhan bites his lip, struggling to stay still while Zul’s body grips him like a vise, almost too tight to be pleasurable. “Would you like to turn over?” he suggests, hoping to make this easier for Zul if he truly insists on seeing it through. 

Zul shakes his head. “Nnh- no, no,” he says, obviously trying- and horribly failing- to keep his voice steady, “I'm fine. I don't want it from behind.”

In a hesitant attempt to comfort Zul, Rastakhan places his broad hand on Zul’s lean thigh, rubbing gently. Zul was adamant about remaining mostly clothed, his upper half fully covered by a long, loose shirt, but his leggings are pushed down around his knees, exposing the soft skin of his thighs and the harder scales on his hips to Rastakhan's wandering eyes and hands. To his great surprise and relief, Zul's almost agonized expression eases just a little when Rastakhan touches him, a soft, shaky sigh slipping between bruised lips.

Zul grips his own flagging cock, rubbing the head against his palm, hips rocking and twitching in tiny, restrained little movements. Rastakhan reaches for him, and Zul lets him take over. His rough palm all but engulfs the prophet’s length, and Rastakhan, captivated by his old friend's pleasure, watches attentively as Zul’s eyes slip shut and he arches into Rastakhan's hand.

“Good,” Zul breathes. Rastakhan feels giddy- he's drunk on the rare praise that Zul gives him, every sweet word like a bolt of lightning to the groin, fueling the ravenous fire blazing in the pit of his gut. Zul's hand rests gingerly over Rastakhan's, guiding him, encouraging him to grip it tighter.

“Keep- keep stroking me while you-” Zul takes a long, shaky breath, “while you put it in.” Normally, Zul will speak utter filth without so much as a twitch, whispering things to Rastakhan that would make even the most experienced of the royal concubines feel faint. It seems that Zul’s confidence wavers when he's speared on a cock thicker than his arm. Rastakhan would describe it as endearing if he didn't know that Zul would twist his ear off his head.

Obedient to a fault, Rastakhan tugs Zul’s cock firmly as he starts to ease into him again. Zul’s face twists up into something that falls between concentration and pain, digging his nails into Rastakhan’s wrist. 

Rastakhan grasps Zul's hip, _ carefully _ pinning him down to keep him from squirming. Sliding the foreskin over the head of Zul's cock and back again, Rastakhan pushes deeper, and deeper still, until his hips press flush against Zul, until Zul's head is tipped back, lips parted and eyes screwed shut tight, white hair fanned out around his head like a messy halo. Zul’s shirt rides up over his abdomen, and Rastakhan thinks he can see the faintest outline of his cock in the prophet’s belly, a bump where Rastakhan presses against him inside. 

“Rasta,” Zul groans, “Rasta- _ move _.”

Captivated by the beads of sweat glistening on Zul’s furrowed brow and the bulge of his own cock inside Zul, it takes Rastakhan a moment to process the request. “Oh,” he says. Zul gives him an exasperated look through half-lidded eyes, though it is somewhat diminished by his reddened ears.

Gently, Rastakhan pulls back, and pushes in again. Zul makes a sound like a small animal being stepped on, between a grunt and a whimper. A little more slowly, Rastakhan repeats the movement, and Zul gasps.

After a moment or two of careful fumbling, Rastakhan settles into a rhythm, fucking Zul in slow, shallow strokes. He rubs his thumb against the head of Zul’s cock, and Zul bucks into his hand erratically, his teeth clenched, chest heaving. The way that his cock twitches in Rastakhan's fist suggests that he's already close. 

Rastakhan moves inside him with great care, trying to angle his cock against the spot that would bring Zul the most pleasure despite the pain of being stretched. He knows he’s found it when Zul chokes and convulses beneath him. 

Gently, Rastakhan pulls Zul closer, and rocks against him just one, two more times, squeezing Zul’s leaking cock in his hand. Zul’s orgasm seems to take him by surprise; his lean body arches up in a graceful curve, hips thrusting into Rastakhan's hand, a sharp, broken cry torn from his throat. The look on Zul’s face when he cums is something that Rastakhan never wants to forget, filing it carefully away in the back of his mind, for later. 

Zul's red face twists up even further as Rastakhan fucks into him until the last shuddering aftershocks of his release fade away, until he spills inside Zul with a low, drawn-out moan, until Zul is pushing weakly at Rastakhan's hip. “Stop- please.”

Through the haze of the afterglow, a traitorous thread of concern starts to worm its way into Rastakhan's mind, seeing how Zul’s thin, fragile-looking body quivers beneath him. Zul is tougher than Rastakhan gives him credit for, but still. He worries. 

He starts to rub Zul’s thigh again, and, gradually, Zul relaxes. Zul is breathing heavily. His eyes are closed, his face is slack, almost peaceful. Rastakhan leans down to press his lips gently to the prophet’s forehead, and Zul rumbles low in his throat, a feeble purr.

“Get off me,” Zul huffs, irritated but fond, and Rastakhan shifts his bulk, withdrawing from Zul with a soft, wet sound, his cum leaking out after him. He is kind enough to ignore Zul’s whimper.

Zul turns onto his side as Rastakhan settles beside him, pressing his face into the crook of Rastakhan’s neck, as if hiding. Rastakhan wraps his arm around him.

“Was it good?” he asks quietly, anxious to know if he did well, if Zul enjoyed it, if Zul is satisfied. The prophet shifts closer to Rastakhan, all but clinging to him, and Rastakhan holds him tighter, cradling his lithe body against his own.

After a moment, Zul mumbles, “Yes,” muffled by Rastakhan's neck. Rastakhan breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “Good.”

“Good,” Rastakhan echoes, pressing Zul closer to him, rubbing his back. Zul’s exhale is warm and shaky against Rastakhan’s throat.

So soft that Rastakhan almost misses it, Zul whispers, “It was perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> i don't like this but i haven't posted in a while so here u go. maybe one of these days i'll suck it up and write something other than porn


End file.
